


Hello to healing

by OhGoshOhJeez



Category: Breaking Bad, El Camino - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Comfort, PTSD, Post El Camino, Therapy, don’t ask me how his therapist knows his real name okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhGoshOhJeez/pseuds/OhGoshOhJeez
Summary: Jesse goes to therapy.
Kudos: 15





	Hello to healing

“There was a moment...When I had that gun pressed against the back of my head, and I was looking at Mister White, when I felt...I dunno, relieved? Like yeah I’m gonna die but hey at least my head wasn’t cut off with an axe. At least I wasn’t blown to smithereens or set on fire in a jail cell. Like there were so many ways I coulda died before then, and I guess I just felt kinda....”

_ “Peaceful?” _

“...Yeah. Peaceful, or whatever. I mean I was scared shitless and I was just... Furious, at everything, but there was still that moment where I thought hey, maybe this isn’t a bad thing. You know, maybe the world will be better off if I wasn’t...In it.”

_ “Do you still feel that way now?” _

“...I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I guess I won’t know until I have another second like that again.”

_ “Until?” _

“Until.”

_ “Earlier you told me that you’d started going to group therapy, has that been helping?” _

“I guess. S’ not exactly fun to be in, but at least...At least it’s  _ people _ , you know? People who won’t-...They just talk to me, like normal, and they listen, and it’s good.”

_ “I’m very happy to hear that. How have you been progress wise, have you still been getting nightmares?” _

“...Yeah. They come and go. Sometimes I have one and I don’t even realise that it was a nightmare until I reflect on it and think ‘Oh shit, Jesse your brain is fucked up, man’. And, you know, sometimes it’s more obvious.”

_ “Obvious?” _

“...I wake up and I’m just...Drenched with sweat and- and I’m screaming and I don’t even know why, I just am.”

_ “Have you tried the coping mechanisms I suggested?” _

“Yeah. I tried to. It’s hard...Getting that picture outta my head. The bars. I feel like it’s stuck in my brain. Can a picture get stuck in your brain?”

_ “Actually, yes. Post traumatic stress can cause vivid flashbacks and in some cases, hallucinations. Not that I’m saying you’re experiencing that, but a lot of people who’ve gone through traumatic events can still recall images, sounds, even smells like they are still experiencing them in the moment.” _

“Shit. That’s...That’s really fucked up. Will it just be there...Forever? Like it’ll never go away, I’m just stuck with it?”

_ “No, no, sometimes these images fade over time, eventually you learn how to cope with the memories and then, in turn, the reminders begin to ease. Just keep doing the methods I suggested-“ _

“I did the uh- the grounding shit? Sorry- Ah, the grounding technique. Counted from ten, listed things in my room.”

_ “That’s great! And did it help?” _

“Yeah, actually. It uh...I think the image faded a lot faster when I noticed my surroundings.”

_ “That’s the idea. I think you’re doing incredibly well, Jesse. In my professional and personal opinion. You’re well on your way to recovery.” _

“...I don’t....Know if I’ll ever fully recover.”

_ “That’s okay too. But you’re doing a fantastic job of minimising pain, and that’s something to be proud of.” _

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. It kinda...Sucks though, right? I mean, they hurt me, and I’m the one who has to put in the effort to fix what they fucked u- what they messed up.”

_ “You’re not messed up. You were hurt, and it’s awful that you were, but they can’t hurt you any more. You can live on in spite of them, find your own happiness.” _

“It’s gonna take a while, huh?”

_ “It might.” _

“I think I’m ready. I wanna get better. I wanna be better.”

_ “You already are.” _

“....I am, aren't I?” 


End file.
